


Stop Snoring, Freak-Face!

by who_la_hoop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, alas! songfic, bad language, mmm fluff, shocking misuse of a cheesy love song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-16
Updated: 2007-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/pseuds/who_la_hoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry snores, Draco is a pain and Aerosmith provide a framing device for something which is almost crack!fic but not quite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop Snoring, Freak-Face!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'serenade'.

_I could stay awake, just to hear you breathing…_

Harry was snoring. Draco opened one sleep-gummed eye and glared at the side of Harry's head, hoping that the sheer coldness of his stare would shut the irritating Gryffindor up. Not wake him up though. Because waking him up would indicate to Potter that he, Draco, was also awake. And then Potter might want to have a _conversation_ about the fact that they were now lying naked and spooned up close in Potter's bed. And Draco didn't quite think he could bear it.

Not with the fact that he was certainly not hung-over enough to justify his actions the night before – strange flashbacks almost overwhelming him of shoving Potter so hard against the wall that Potter stumbled and broke a side table, pulling him down onto the wreckage in a tangle of limbs and hard, harsh kisses.

So Draco settled for bouncing irritably on the bed, until Potter sighed into a half-sleep and rolled over, pulling Draco into a loose hug, and winding his legs around him like some kind of needy octopus monster. And, to his horror, Draco found that he didn't actually mind this disgusting invasion of his personal space.

Even though Harry was still snoring. 

_Watch you smile while you are sleeping. While you're far away and dreaming…_

Harry woke and felt very, very confused for a moment. He was wrapped around a warm, soft body and someone's hair was tickling his nose. He focused. And remembered. Oh hell…

Last night had been the party after Fred's funeral. George had thrown the biggest party of their lives to celebrate his brother's life, and after a few too many drinks they'd Apparated wildly to Hogsmeade for a few more drinks. Harry's head hurt, and he tried to remember exactly what had happened. Malfoy had been there. And instead of hexing him he'd… hugged him? And possibly cried all over his shirt? Harry cringed at the memory. And then they'd ended up back at Grimmauld Place, breaking furniture and knocking over ornaments in their haste to tear off clothes and… Harry blushed into the gloom of his bedroom, as he looked down at the sleeping young man curled up in his arms.

Malfoy (it somehow seemed too bizarre to think of him as Draco, even though they'd become, er, rather more closely acquainted than before) was scowling. His lip was curled up into a sneer, and his lips were moving as if he were muttering something foul. Then he gasped – and his eyes snapped open.

Harry suddenly found himself staring Malfoy right in the eye. Malfoy didn't even have the common decency to blush.

"Um, hello," Harry said awkwardly.

Malfoy snorted. "Whatever." He closed his eyes, and snuggled up even closer to Harry – even though the idea of Malfoy snuggling was a bit of a mind-boggler, there was no other way of describing it.

Harry looked down at him, slightly confused. "We okay?" he asked, feeling sheepish.

"Shut up, idiot," Malfoy muttered, not opening his eyes.

"Oh," Harry said. "Sorry."

Malfoy opened one eye and gave him a look. "Nighttime is for _sleeping_, scarhead. If you carry on talking, I will kill you."

Harry shut up.

"The answer's yes, loser," Malfoy murmured.

Harry processed this. He grinned. And when he looked down, Malfoy was smiling into his pillow, even though his eyes were closed. 

 

_I could spend my life, in this sweet surrender. I could stay lost in this moment forever…_

When Draco woke up again, feeling like he hadn't slept a wink, he had to prevent himself from an embarrassing temper tantrum. Not only was he dying for the toilet – and leaving the room involved the distinct possibility of tripping over a Weasley of some kind, and a high likelihood of being hexed – but Potter was bloody, fucking, sodding snoring again.

Draco wondered if hexing Potter's nose off would help, but decided against it with a faint sigh of irritation. He'd probably make an even worse noise then. Besides, it might put a crimp on his sex life. Even drunk and maudlin, Potter had been a fun, unselfish lover. Draco couldn't quite remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself so much. Potter hadn't been particularly expert, but what he lacked in technique, he'd made up for in enthusiasm and tender care. Of course they hadn't gone all the way, but…

A Terrible Thought occurred to Draco.

"Potter!" he mumbled, giving his bed-fellow a shove.

Potter mumbled something and opened his eyes a crack. "Mmm?"

"You're not a virgin, are you?" Draco asked suspiciously.

Potter went red, and Draco felt his insides freeze.

"Please tell me you've at least… you know… what we did last night, you've done before with a bloke, right?"

"Um," Potter said, now beetroot coloured and heading towards scarlet with rapid speed.

Draco stared at him, feeling appalled with himself. "So last night, you were drunk and grieving and I… Fucking hell. You don't even _like_ me. Do you even like men?"

"Do we really have to have this conversation now?" Harry mumbled. "My head hurts."

"Yes," Draco said stiffly. "I took advantage–" he began, but found himself unable to continue when he was pulled into a hug so tight that it was almost uncomfortable.

"Don't be such an idiot," Harry said, his voice low but firm. "I did what I wanted to do." He laughed faintly. "This is kind of bizarre. It's going to take me some time to get my head around it, okay?"

Draco frowned. "But I'm… How can you possibly want to… What exactly are you suggesting, Potter?"

Harry sighed faintly, and Draco felt him press a kiss against the side of his head. "Nighttime is for _sleeping_, Malfoy," Harry said, and laughed. "We can have a fight in the morning if you like."

Draco relaxed, and drifted into a semi-sleep, feeling warm and slightly less anxious, in Potter's tight embrace.

And then Potter – the absolute wanker – started to snore again. And Draco _still_ needed the toilet, damn it. He grit his teeth and held it in. 

 

_Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure…_

"WILL YOU STOP SNORING, FREAK FACE!" Draco yelled. He'd done his absolute best to push down his rising temper, and to be reasonable. But then Potter was beyond irritating and he, Draco, valued his sleep too much to bite his tongue any longer.

Potter sat bolt upright, and looked angry. "Good morning to you too, Malfoy," he said. "Or at least, good bloody-middle-of-the-night. Sorry to disturb you. I'll go and sleep on the couch."

And before Draco could protest, Harry had jumped out of bed, slung on some pyjama bottoms and stormed out. Draco gaped slightly at ridiculous Gryffindorness of storming out of your own room, when there was the entirely valid option of kicking the other person out.

He glowered at the door, but it refused to open and reveal Potter standing behind it, ready to come back to bed and curl up around him again. It really was vile quite how pleasant the sensation of – oh god – _snuggling_ up to Potter was.

And then there was the niggling guilt that he'd, once again, been an arsehole to Potter, without real reason. Snoring was irritating, but then Potter hadn't exactly done it on purpose. And waking him up with a kiss would have been just as effective – and more pleasurable. Draco pulled a face. Now he'd have to _apologise_.

He stood up and went to the door – and stopped. He glared at it. Since when had a Malfoy been afraid of a door? He could hear voices, low and indistinct from the hallway, and he had to almost physically prevent himself from casting an amplifying charm to eavesdrop. He grimaced. He didn't even know where the hell he was in the house. Was Harry's room at the top? Where would he have gone? And – his bladder reminded him in no uncertain terms – where the hell was the bathroom?

Draco scanned the room for his clothes, and pulled on his trousers and a t-shirt of Potter's. It was ridiculously large, and fell over one shoulder in a manner that Draco thought was distinctly un-fetching. He considered taking his wand, but when he saw Harry's resting on his bedside table, he decided against it. Let the Weasels hex an unarmed man if they dared. They'd quickly discover the consequences of messing with the Malfoy family.

He bit his lip and slid the door open. To his incredible relief, not only was the hall deserted, but the bathroom was clearly visible. He dashed over and locked himself in, before carrying out the necessaries. Right, he thought, that's better. Now to find Potter.

He slid out and crept down the stairs. Potter's voice was clearly audible, although the words were not. He was talking – and a kind of jealous rage fizzed up in Draco – to his ex-girlfriend, Ginny. And not just talking. _Laughing_. Draco almost turned around and went back upstairs, but he clenched his jaw and walked in.

Harry looked up, his expression slightly startled. Then he frowned. "What do you want, Malfoy? I thought you wanted to sleep."

Draco tried not to twitch. He wasn't prepared for an audience, even though the Weasley girl didn't look quite as murderous could be expected. He wasn't even quite sure what he wanted to say.

"Come back to bed, Potter," he said finally. "My feet are cold and I need a warm-blooded idiot to warm them against."

To Draco's surprise, Ginny laughed.

Harry smiled warmly at Ginny, and Draco felt quite sick.

"You forgot the magic word," Ginny said with a giggle.

Draco scowled at her. "I beg your pardon? Are you suggesting I use magic to force Potter up to his own bedroom?"

"Stop it, Ginny," Potter said with a grin at her. "Sorry, Draco. It's a Muggle expression. The magic word is please."

"Oh," Draco said, and felt himself flush, quite without rhyme or reason. "_Please_ can you come back upstairs and be my personal foot warmer?"

Harry looked dubious. "You're not going to yell in my ear again, are you? Ginny gave me a hang-over cure, but I still don't fancy going through that again. I thought my head was going to fall off."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I apologize for not realizing quite how sensitive you are, Harry dearest. Won't you come upstairs, pretty please with sugar on top?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm, and he wondered, after the deed was done, if he'd laid it on a bit too thick.

To his surprise, Harry smiled. "I like it when you call me Harry," he said, and got up, running a hand through his tousled hair.

And then, a most unexpected thing happened. Harry kissed Ginny chastely on the cheek, moved across the room, and took Draco's hand, pulling him gently out of the room. Draco found it intimate and unexpectedly affecting.

And when Harry curled around him possessively in bed, and fell almost instantly asleep, Draco couldn't even bring himself to complain. 

 

_Don't want to close my eyes. I don't want to fall asleep, 'cause I'd miss you babe, and I don't want to miss a thing…_

The sunlight was filtering through the curtains, and Draco bit his lip as he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at Potter. Potter was sound asleep, and for that Draco envied him very much. But then Draco hadn't had a good night's sleep for– He sighed, and watched Potter's chest rise and fall with some envy. Hadn't slept well since he'd been introduced to the Dark Lord. Still woke half a dozen times most nights sobbing at the things that Voldemort had made him do. He screwed up his face in embarrassment at the sudden thought that Potter could have seen one of his _episodes_, as he thought of them.

Dreamily watching Potter's chest rise and fall, Draco only realised too late that Potter had woken up, and was watching him with a slightly dazed expression.

"I should go," Draco said stiffly, sitting up.

Harry's brow wrinkled, and he summoned his glasses, shoving them on quickly and also sitting up. He ran a hand through his tousled, messy hair and Draco was disgusted at how his insides flipped at the sight.

Harry's expression suddenly cleared, and he grinned. "You're wearing my t-shirt. I like it."

Draco looked down at himself. He was still wearing the ridiculous oversized t-shirt that he'd grabbed the night before. He stood up. "Where are my clothes? I can't go home dressed in this rag."

Harry looked slightly hurt. His face flickered, and his lips moved as if he were rehearsing what he was going to say. "Um."

"Spit it out, Potter," Draco snapped.

"I'm not sure how we ended up like…" Harry waved a hand vaguely. "Like this, but. Well. I kind of…" He flushed, and looked embarrassed. "I forgave you a long time ago. You don't need to say sorry. I mean it would be nice. But I guess we were as bad as each other really. I'm not quite sure where I'm heading with this."

Draco felt himself freeze with indignation at the idea of being forgiven by a _Potter_ of all people, but it was hard to ignore the part of his brain that melted with gratitude. As soon as the Dark Mark had burned into his arm he'd known what a terrible, unforgivable mistake he'd made – whatever his father thought, or said. And as he watched his father taunted and emasculated by the Dark Lord, he knew that Potter – sod him – had been right all along. Hadn't made much of a difference to the way he'd acted of course. He was a Malfoy, was he not? Certain things were expected – nay _demanded_ of him, and family loyalty was at the top of the list. But it did make a difference, in the end.

"Draco? You okay?" Harry looked wretched. "This was probably a mistake," he mumbled.

"What, I'm not good enough for the Chosen One?" Draco snapped, and then felt appalled at his choice of words. So _needy_. Ugh. How improper. But then standing in the middle of Harry's bedroom, wearing his cast-off clothes wasn't exactly the height of dignity, he had to concede.

Harry looked angry. "I'm not the Chosen One, you arsehole. I'm just Harry. If that's who you think I am, then you know where the door is."

"I was leaving anyway," Draco snapped, then paused. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

"That you're not the Chosen One?"

Harry sighed and shrugged. "I couldn't have done it without my friends and all the people behind me. It was luck really. I'm nothing special, so don't go _on_ about it."

Draco stood there, staring at Harry. A faint blush stole into Harry's cheeks.

"Well, are you coming back to bed, or are you flouncing out in a huff?" Harry said. He was grinning, but the colour deepened in his face.

Draco stepped back over towards the bed, and fell into a graceless heap as Harry tugged him down.

"What are you _doing_?" he complained, before Harry shut him up with a non-too-gentle kiss.

Harry smiled and laughed slightly breathlessly. Draco found himself on his back, Harry's warm body pressing him into the bed. "Making up for lost time," Harry murmured. "Are you complaining again?"

Draco snorted, half-annoyed and half-amused. "And if I am?"

Draco's heart stopped as Harry's hips rolled against his own, sparking an immediate response from a certain part of his body that demanded instant attention, and drawing a breathy moan from his lips quite without Draco's permission.

Harry's breath was warm against his neck. "Then I'm going to have to shut you up," he said, and proceeded to do so quite thoroughly.

When Harry fell asleep once more, a snore passing his lips more quickly than Draco had even thought possible, Draco realised he didn't even _want_ to hex him. At least, not _too_ hard. He grinned, and shook Harry hard.

"Did you just wake me up again?" Harry said sleepily. "I hate you," he continued. "In fact, I… Mmmmf…"

But Draco was having far too much fun covering Harry's mouth with his own – and thinking up new and inventive ways of waking the irritating Gryffindor up – to respond. He grinned wickedly against Harry's mouth as Harry moaned, and bucked against him – the idea of sleepless nights in the future suddenly seeming a lot more fraught with possibilities – and a lot more fun.


End file.
